“MMMMMMMMMMEEEEEEEEEOOOWWWWWWW!!!” came from her gut once again, this time with an accompanying swipe to my neck.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?!” I asked.

“Oh nothing much, I was just curious to hear your thoughts on pubstep” she said with a calm disposition

I stared at her, and she stared at me. My initial reaction was to scream but I was so shocked and bewildered that I could only stare. I realised that I didn’t want this opportunity to slip away, so I amused the cat with my opinion on pubstep:

“You know, I really think the modification of a genres title to mark out a concise narrative to its modern popularity is a great injustice. I happen to enjoy James Blake-“ before I could finish she interrupted me

“James Blake isn’t pubstep”

“Oh?” I inquisitively intoned

“No” she said again, abruptly, “he’s dubstep, he always was”

“Well then I’m sorry, I guess I just don’t understand what pubstep is, but I think my point is still valid” I said.

“Yes your point is still valid but…oh…just nevermind…” she said with a resigned sigh

“No come on…let’s discuss more things, I’ll call in sick to work and we can spend the whole day just talking…”

“Meow!” she said as she sauntered to her litter box to take a shit.

I rushed over and grabbed her, “come on! I heard you speak! Talk! TEACH ME THE WAYS OF PUBSTEP, FELINE” and all I got back was a blank face.

Was I going crazy? I wondered if my four legged friend had let me into the world’s greatest secret, maybe I was the first person to be let into the inner circle of cats. After all, there was always something incredibly mysterious about them - maybe this was the explanation. I started thinking back to any signs, any little hints that would have given some more weight to the notion that this really did just happen. I started to remember small things that while inconsequential at the time, struck me as incredibly relevant now. One day I came home from work and saw my USB turntable plugged into the computer, I frequently rip vinyl to FLAC, and I also am a frequent sleepwalker. I figured, well, maybe I really outdid myself last night: I usually just make sandwiches. I checked my files to see if I ripped anything, and sure enough, there was a ripped, tagged and artwork scanned folder entitled “Sung Tongs [vinyl]” I had a little chuckle to myself and thought nothing of it. But now, I realise there was an oddity at play in this scenario – the rip was very clean of cracks and pops. I usually intentionally leave my vinyl dusty to achieve the true vinyl sound, so to clean a record seems very unlike me.

I now realise my cat was tired of the pop at 1.68 mark of Leaf House. More evidence (as if was needed) would come in the form of newly won affection from my cat during plays of Sung Tongs. Animal Collective was an entity that me and the cat were not able to explore together, until now. When the opening of Leaf House would pound out, my feline buddy would stop in her tracks and leap to my lap.

Of course! It all makes sense. Cats are music aficionados! Why wouldn’t they be? Look at them. They are the essence of cool, they ooze the spiritual tonality that makes music so irresistible, so elegant and so magical. It occurred to me that music exploration is much like having a cat, that first time you heard The Velvet Underground & Nico, it’s like the first lick of your nose from a kitten with a rough, jagged tongue. When you scoop your cats litter box – sure it’s dirty, but you feel good about it, much like when you listen to a much heralded, but nevertheless much outdated album from the vaults. The act itself wasn’t pleasing, but you feel good that it’s something that you did, you feel like a better person for pushing yourself beyond your own sights.

My cat hasn’t spoken since. I somehow doubt that he’ll ever revive our conversation, but MoonUnit, should you ever feel the desire to throw some feline wisdom in my direction, let it be known that I have refined and perfected my stance on pubstep. I just hope you speak up before it is no longer relevant.